


"I'm drunk, please help."

by thenorthernwastrel



Category: Fable (Video Games), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenorthernwastrel/pseuds/thenorthernwastrel
Summary: Reaver finds the King in a vulnerable and difficult state.
Relationships: Logan (Fable) & Reaver (Fable)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	"I'm drunk, please help."

"I'm drunk, please help."

“You most certainly _are_.” Reaver smirked, watching as the King struggled to stand, quickly resolving to lean against the castle wall. His back began sliding down but Reaver caught him by the arm before his royal behind made contact with the lush carpet. He was _always_ happy to help the crown off the floor.  


It was late; Reaver had come into to foyer looking for some.. _particular_ company, a wandering maid or footman perhaps, but was not displeased to find the King in such a compromising state. Not that Reaver would ever let it _lead_ to compromise of course— but it was nice, somehow, to see such a rigorously uptight man lose his bearings, especially when it played right into the Baron’s lap.

“I just.. need to get t’ my room, I– _stairs_ –” There was no doubt about it: Logan was absolutely _stewed_. He could hardly talk, the task of actually forming words sounding quite a bit too arduous for him. Reaver hiked the ruler’s arm over his own shoulders, taking on most his weight and feeling just how unsteady he really was. “Thhanks, Rev– _Reaver_ , I—”  


“No need to thank me, your majesty, I _am_ here to help after all, in any way necessary.” Reaver would make Logan _pay_ for this service somehow in the future, he was sure.  


He walked them up the stairs slowly, worry that the King would vomit on his personal robe tugging at the back of his mind as the tyrant’s weight became more and more shifted on him, practically on top of him by the time their trek was finished. His face was _improperly_ close, and Reaver could smell the heavy scent of wine so strongly he daresay could have identified it by year. How on _Earth_ did the man manage without him?

“I believe we are here— this is your room, is it not?”  


Logan simply nodded, head finding difficulty in keeping itself upright after the motion. Had the crown actually been on his head— which it hadn’t in _years_ , Reaver realized— it would have fallen to the ground long ago. There was some sort of poetic parallel there, he was sure.

“Tisk tisk your majesty, off you go to bed. I’ll let one of the maids know you’ll be needing.. _assistance_ with your royal affairs in the morning.” He slid himself under Logan’s arm slowly, giving the man time to adjust to being on his own two feet again before tapping him slightly in the way of the bedroom door.  


Logan mumbled something incomprehensible— likely _he_ didn’t even know what it was supposed to be— and fumbled with the door handle before practically falling through the opening. Oh, this whole experience was going to be _good_ for business later on. 

Reaver leaned himself over the man’s figure, reaching to pull the door back closed and having to slightly kick _something_ out of the way to achieve doing so. “My my, how— _depressing_.” 


End file.
